Leila

 

 

“You sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

I refrain from rolling my eyes at Rory and nod once, breathing in deeply through the fatigue and slight twinge I still feel whenever I move around and the still-healing scar tissue pulls around my lower belly.

I have this gross pink line on my stomach that will never quite fade to nothing no matter how long it takes, but that’s okay, as long as the damn thing heals quickly.

I’ve been out and about for three weeks, and the stitches are long gone. I’m still not allowed to participate in strenuous activity for another few weeks, not until the stitches inside dissolve, which according to Lori will only happen when muscles knit properly. Ew.

It freaks me out, so I’ve been taking things slow, but Rory isn’t that sensitive, it seems, because the moment he came back from his conference—which, by the way, he didn’t tell me about!—he’s been pushing me to get out.

He says he just wants me to have fresh air and sunshine, but I think he’s a little freaked out about Lyon being around and doesn’t feel secure enough to let me stay at home and have visitors.

So, now we’re sitting in the drizzle, watching a football game that stars his little brother as the leading man. Quarterback my ass, I snort, watching the little shit fumble the ball for the fourth time in the same freaking quarter.

I’ve been secretly cheering for the opposing side since Rory called a play that was so obviously not right. Honestly, I don’t hate football, but when people start lying outright because their team is losing, it just doesn’t feel right to me.

So, here I am, and I am not only tired, sore and freezing, I’m annoyed because Rory keeps shifting the umbrella he swore he’d hold over me a little closer to his own head and I’m getting wet.

The Wylder men would not only not make me come watch a football game while I’m recovering but if it was something I insisted on, they’d stand in gale force rain and make sure not a droplet touched me.

The left side of me is soaked, and no matter how close I shift to Rory, the fucking umbrella keeps shifting. Bastard. Plus, I’ve told him twice that I should probably get home because my wound feels weird.

Twice. And miraculously he just doesn’t seem to hear me. What has happened to my sweet, attentive, slightly boring boyfriend is beyond me. In fact, this is the first time he’s insisted I go to one of the hallowed games, because, and looking to the side I shudder when I see a glare, his mother does not like me.

At all. So, yeah, just chilling, literally and painfully, having eyeballs drill holes in my skull while I try to tell my boyfriend I don’t feel good.

“Rory?”

He doesn’t hear me and leaps up to cheer at something, the crowd going so wild around us someone shoves me, and I lurch forward, hitting the chair in front of me with a muffled scream of pain.

Oh God, God, let me die, I beg when it hits, my knees hitting the floor with a bang. The crush is not easy either, because no sooner do I take a pained breath and try to push up than the fat asshole beside me starts hopping and almost steps on me.

“Fucking move!”

I hear the snarl and look up just in time to see Hawk literally tossing people like dead rats while Lyon lunges forward, shoves Rory, and grabs me up, his face so hard I swallow on a gulp.

“Hey, man! That’s my girlfriend. I’ll help her.”

Oh, Rory, Rory, Rory, I think sadly, watching Hawk’s face go homicidal while Lyon snarls a curse.

“Oh, yeah, asshole? Then tell me why I’ve watched you ignore her for the last five fucking minutes while you hogged the umbrella and let her get wet. Then you can tell me exactly what the hell you’re thinking, bringing her to a football game when she’s got a healing wound and she looks dead on her feet!” Lyon shouts, pulling me close just as Hawk lays a towel over me and rips the umbrella from Rory’s hand.

I’m out of the rain so fast I want to grin because, see, I just knew it.

“She said she was okay.”

“Uh—”

He cuts me off before I can protest that lie and shoves a finger at Hawk. Okay, now, that’s just lunacy.

“Mind your own business. She needs to get out, not sit around in her shitty house and vegetate.”

My gasp is all offended pride because I do not vegetate; I rest in a completely dignified manner. Vegetate. Dick. And my house is not shitty. It’s…picturesque.

Hawk smiles, oh no, and grabs that finger with a grunt, twisting hard enough that even I wince.

“Don’t play with me, boy. I don’t fight pretty like you pansies do.”

“Leila!”

“Don’t look at her, asshole. Look at me.”

Er, everyone is looking, I think, blushing because even the game has come to a halt and we’re being watched like bugs under a microscope. We’re causing a scene, and it hits me belatedly that I am in the arms of my ex while his brother is trying to break my boyfriend’s finger.

“Lyon—”

“Hush, Lay. We’ll talk just as soon as Hawk breaks his face and I can get you to the truck. Come on, Hawk. It’s freezing, man. Just give him one jab.”

“Don’t!” I yell when Rory yelps, and Hawk releases him with a huff. “Rory, I’m going to go home and—”

“I’ll take you.”

“You’ll die trying. You’ve already ignored her once, hero. Let’s not overstretch your capabilities by giving you another chance. Now move.”

I can’t hear what Rory yells after that because Lyon practically leaps from the bleachers and runs for the truck when the drizzle comes down harder.

I should protest and stick up for Rory or something. I don’t know, but when he lowers me into the truck and the heat enfolds me, all I can do is moan and snuggle into the seat.

I’m sore, really sore, wet, and so tired when I stop shivering all I want to do is sleep.

“Dammit, Leila.”

“Don’t yell at me, Lyon. I’ve got a headache.”

“But you—”

“And I am not impressed with your intimidation tactics either, so don’t even start. How could you guys do that? Rory is my—”

“He’s an ass. He made you go to a game out in the rain in your condition because he’s got a bug up his ass about me visiting you. Admit it. Then you can also admit that you’re not at all annoyed because your spoilt ass is inside the warm truck and you’re not cold anymore.”

I shut my mouth on a rebuke and give a shrug because he’s right. I’ve already been down the road that tells of my hatred of anything less than warm. I hate getting cold. It hurts me.

Besides, I do have a headache, and I don’t want to argue. I’ll deal with Rory tomorrow and smooth things over.

“How did you find me?” I ask tiredly, shivering because my wet sleeve isn’t drying even with the heater blasting at me, and it’s sticking to my skin.

“Mika called when she got to your place and you weren’t there. What were you thinking, going out in this weather?”

Nothing. I wasn’t thinking, because Rory wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I felt guilty because not only have I told him that sex is out—using my wound as an excuse—but I flinch when he touches me.

I know why, but what I can’t explain is the way I don’t when Lyon or his brothers try to hug me. I guess it could be because I know they’re not trying to feel me up.

Rory understands the no sex thing, is even a little afraid of ripping something, but let me say, and this is not something I really want to think about, he was very insinuating about a blow job last night.

I escaped that by falling asleep with little to no guilt, because, come on, how selfish can a guy be? I understand though, and Lyon is completely right. Rory is feeling the squeeze and trying to re-establish a bond with me the only way he knows how.

“I was sick of sitting at home.”

“Liar.”

“Lyon, stop yelling at me.”

“Fine, but I will seriously lose it if you do anything this stupid again. You’re not healed yet, Lay. You could rip stuff inside, and then you’d have to go in again. You want them cutting on you again?”

Hell no. Not after that doctor arrived and checked me over. I tried to protest because having your current doctor watch while another guy gives a second opinion on his work was just awkward.

But I do agree with the guy. My scar was unnecessary under the circumstances and so is the lengthy healing period I have to endure as a result.

Keyhole, people! Why couldn’t they just do that?

“No,” I mumble under my breath.

“Good. Now, Mom’s waiting for us, and don’t argue. You need some hot food and rest. She’s got a bedroom all made up for you, and Lori’s dying to see you again.”

I snort because not a day has gone by in the last weeks that they don’t show up at my house. I spent two hours poring over swatches with Danny yesterday and another laughing while Lori told me stripper stories from the days she used to ‘ride the pole,’ as she puts it.

You know, I love that she was a stripper. Not that I love that she was…I just love that she did that and feels no shame for doing what she had to, to live.

I myself would have done that after I stopped working for Wylder Construction, but thankfully, Mom and Dad finally pulled their heads out of their asses and realized I was starving.

My point is that I see them all every day, especially Lyon, who’s on leave from his job for some reason. We get to the Wylders’ mansion in minutes and I totally don’t complain, because Rain takes one look at me and whisks me upstairs to change into fleecy sweats and thick socks.

She then settles me on the couch downstairs and feeds me a plate of fried shrimp and a huge slice of chocolate cake so rich it’s black in color. Pampered. I feel pampered, and it is good.

Even Mika hangs out here sometimes, when Hawk isn’t around because, for some reason, they just don’t get along.

“That’s better. Now you can take your pain pills.”

Her tone is no-nonsense, so I don’t argue, just swallow and lean back with a moan of satiation.

“What do you want to watch?” Lyon asks, falling into the seat at my feet and hoisting them onto his lap.

“Anything but reality shows.”

He settles on Castaway, and we fall silent as we watch Tom Hanks make nice with a volleyball while growing a beard that is oddly sexy. When it’s done, I’m practically asleep and just going under when I feel myself lifted against his chest. Hmm, smells good.

I want to protest and tell him I can walk, but heck, I’m lazy, and it feels nice to be looked after sometimes. We’re friends, after all, and he’s proven that we are by giving me space and also being there.

It sounds like a contradiction, but it’s true. He comes over, and we laugh and talk with Hawk, and then he leaves, and I don’t have to worry about him thinking things that will make things hard for me.

He’s seen me with Rory, and he’s been cool. Hell, I didn’t even realize how much he doesn’t like him until today. I feel a cool pillow moments later and drift off just after he covers me and lays a soft kiss to my cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Lay.”

They are sweet too. I dream of him, of the past, and also what we’ll have in the future. Friends. Hhhmm, I like that.

Sometime later, probably a while later because I’m no longer cold at all and I’m foggy with sleep, I feel the bed dip and a hard chest surround my back.

I should wake up and move, I think fuzzily, but I’m so comfy and snuggly, and it feels nice to have someone sleeping beside me for a change. So, I don’t move, just lie there and drift off again, comparing Rory, who hates cuddling because of the heat and doesn’t even do post-sex snuggling, to the man behind me.

I’d probably have freaked if I was awake enough to understand better, but I’m so drowsy and warm all I do is smile softly.

We can snuggle without guilt. I mean, we’re friends, and this is not even overly sexual or anything. And…

Well, I don’t have any other good reasoning to justify the way I settle in against him, but for now, I won’t linger on it, because I’m just happy and feeling good.

But I’m also not feeling so good because the longer I stay there in Lyon’s arms and allow the peace to tingle through me, the more it occurs to me that this isn’t a good idea.

Not because I have intentions of doing anything else with him, not because he’s doing anything other than sleeping—he’s gone lax behind me, and his breathing is deep and even.

No, I start feeling anxious because I really don’t want to move, and that just emphasizes how much danger I am in right now. From myself and the stupid idiot inside my head whispering insidiously, telling me that I shouldn’t fight it.

I should just give in and say to hell with the new and in with the old.

I want Lyon. I know, have always known, that I want him and will always want him. I could pick this man from a lineup with a blindfold on and only my senses to find him.

I would feel him, gravitate because we’re like magnets when we’re together and always have been.

Once, a long time ago, I knew Lyon was near because I’d feel it, like a force surrounding me when he came within miles of me. I was in the middle of a crowd, trying to break through the student protest to get to my class.

It was so bad I started panicking and would have had a heart attack, when suddenly I knew he was near. It calmed me enough that I could breathe, and by the time he reached in through the bodies and pulled me out, I was convinced I would never live without him. That’s how strongly connected we were.

But that was then, I think, shifting out from under his arm to slide off the bed. I can’t allow that connection ever again because losing it did things to me I don’t want to feel ever again.

Shuffling to the window, I stare out at the darkness and know that if I can’t stop thinking this way, we can’t be friends.